Technically, my grandfather, as far as I know, is not dead yet.
Rather, he is in a coma that he is highly unlikely to ever emerge from, after a massive stroke. And as I understand his wishes, he has no desire to ever emerge if it leaves him significantly more disabled than before (he was deaf and required two walking sticks).
This is a situation that feels permanent but yet without closure. Too soon to write a proper obituary, but able to hurt in every way.
His autobiography, SKYPILOT, ends with a poem written by a friend of his who died in 2001. I doubt anyone will mind if I repost it here:
Said soul to body, “Why so sad
At all that ought to make you glad:
Failing powers and sleepless nights
Sloth that with your vigour fights
Hands that once grasped rock now cramped
Lively spirits hourly damped,
Legs that leveraged you on high
Over the rocky ridge of Skye
Now unnerved, as good as dead
Painfully twisting in the bed.
Arms that once embraced your love
Scarcely now empowered to move,
Fingers that once could music make
Crippled now to shrink and shake,
All these imagined ills are gains!
All changes come through present pains.
The gasping of your failing breath
Portends the chrysalis of death;
But that once past, you then will be
A fitting dwelling place for me,
Freeing me from my present thrall
Tied to a dead animal;
Now ageless, sinless, strong and free,
All that a body longs to be,
Transformed, renewed and full of light,
A temple for my own delight,
Where you and I at last will be
At one throughout eternity.”
Somehow, cheesy as fuck though this will sound, I’ve been catching up on an old TV show, and its theme song has reminded me of this. Please don’t laugh. I would but I can’t. I can even see this being played for yuks in a teen comedy someday, but it strikes a note for me right now.
Believe it or not
I’m walking on air
I never thought I could feel so free
High and away on a wing and a prayer
Who could it be?
Believe it or not, it’s just me.
I encourage people to look back through the archives and remember what he contributed here. And if you have anything to add — especially if you’ve never commented before — I’ll forward everything on to the family. Unless you’re a dick, in which case you’ll get deleted.
Hi Luke and Luke’s family,
I understand what you’re probably going through, having lost two grandparents in the last 10 years in very similar situations. Luke, the poem you posted is beautiful. It reminds us who are still young(ish) that it’s us that very often have to do the letting go, because our loved ones are ready or at peace or just might prefer it that way, rather than suffering.
I haven’t done it yet, but I’m going to go into your archives and read your grandfather’s writings. I think this is a very special thing you’ve done for and with him, and I wish I’d had something similar to hold on to when my grandparents passed.
Hugs,
Jen
Luke & Graham Clan,
I have very much enjoyed reading Peter’s writings here, and I can only sympathize with you now, since there are really no words to help at a time like this.
Please know that even though we never met, I held him dear in my heart and was touched by his life. I pray for peace and comfort for you all during this difficult time.
~Peggy
Time can only diffuse the pain and hurt we feel, but it will never go away. We can never move on from a great loss. We can only learn to live without.
Those words are meant to encourage even though it may not sound like it.
Many people might say you’ll “get over it”, or they may mock you for “self-pity”. But they just don’t understand. Loss never goes away, and in some ways you learn to live differently. And cherish the ones who truly care for your well-being.
I can only hope that you will allow yourself time to heal. A loss is like like a broken ankle, you’ve got to bitch & moan for awhile until it heals.
To all of you, our hearts and prayers go out. We’re here if you need. Our love to your mom.
We love you, Luke.
Hi all Luke’s wider family/friends,
thanks so much for your comments – they have been passed to my mother and brother who are sitting below me, here in Peter’s house.
Death of a loved one is nothing new. Its been happening for millennia – but its new to all experiencing it in reality and first time depth.
And death of a parent is a tough thing – as I am sure others know already –
the good news is, he “died” a happy man, loving and loved, by so many. I believe he was one of the few gregarious and outgoing people who had virtually no enemies. Even a German pilot who he could well have shot at during WW2 made good friends recently – as did the commandant of his POW camp.
As I sat holding his hand today – his warm and still breathing, but lifeless, body reminded me sweetly of him – but he was not there.
He may be waiting for something, I don’t know. I know that dying people do sometimes hang on in miraculous ways – the death rates at the millennium in this country dropped right off through November – through December -then picked right back up in January 2000.
So please give Luke as many warm hugs as are possible – he is a beloved grandson of a man who loved a great many people. And if you are the praying sort, (I’m not but hey, I remain agnostic in that dept.) Then pray that Luke’s Mom gets down here in time for her to feel the same way I did – and then be able pass that feeling back to Luke…
I am a little messed up trying to write this but keen to express the solidarity of feeling from my siblings and mother toward the wider family across the ocean.
Good lives to you all.
Peter’s writing, graciously re-printed by Luke, has proven to me a wonderful reservoir of thinking & reflection. Gentle, concise, curious, wise & deep. I’ve read his pieces at a time in my life when my focus and leaning and study has become increasingly inward, and he has given me much to consider. Fine pools of reflection — and, lo!, the writings were appearing in a medium (the internet) mostly full of lurid showboating and rancor and ideological bile. Literature; how sweet it is! I’m greatly appreciative of having had an opportunity to share in Peter’s experience and questing. I saw in his writings not a platform for debate (he said, she said, he said) or divisiveness but a resonant, honest sharing, and I absorbed them as such, quietly, gratefully. I saw in his reflection an advanced human being. A deep splendor.
My love to Peter and his family! Blessings & blessings.